We finally have proof. My kid is better than your kid, hands down. There’s no denying it. There’s no arguing. It is now indisputable truth, supported by documentation. Young Matilda has been given the blessing by her school, and therefore by the federal and state governments, to be tested for the Gifted Program. Naturally we agreed because we know for a fact that she is far superior to normal human children. Granted, she never has been able to fly (she can only muster a minimal hover) but now it is apparent she will become one of those intellectual superheroes who uses her wits to defeat evil.

Or she’ll be an evil mastermind who will use her wits to defeat good. It’s really too early to tell. Most villains don’t show their lust for world domination until the age of twelve. Matilda is still just a babe in the world of domination.

I know that I should be against this. Gifted programs create an unnatural separation of children based on esoteric rules that could lead to a quasi-military arrangement in which the gifted ones are used to crack codes and spy on rogue nations. By placing the label of “gifted” on Matilda’s forehead, she’s being ushered into an intellectual and cultural elite and may very well be trained to consider herself special. I should rise up and demand that she be termed normal so as to avoid the stigma of being different from the other children.

Screw that! My kid is better than theirs! Ha! I always knew she was. From the first time I had computer issues and Matilida rigged a neural net that is capable of billions of calculations a minute. I should have suspected when she retrofitted my car with a hydrogen engine and enabled it to fly. My mind should have been intrigued the day that I noticed she had outfitted her little sister with a cloaking device.

She is a special kid. She has a natural curiosity that I hope she never loses. Sometimes she asks us the toughest questions and she expects a tough answer. How will the world end? Will the sun ever die? What is wood made out of? Why do we breathe air?

She and I have a tradition of play the “why” game, to see who wins. Right now I am undefeated. “Why is the sky blue” leads to a discussion of refracted sunlight and argon gas dispersion in the atmosphere. But I know that someday she’ll ask a why question that I’ll be unable to answer. And she’ll laugh at me and say, “You fool. I have surpassed your intelligence. I am the master now. Prepare to submit.”

We have always noticed how much this child likes to think. It’s her pastime. Whenever she reaches something she doesn’t understand she either asks, or deconstructs the moment until she does understand. She’s a natural doubter and always requires empirical evidence in order to be convinced of a natural truth.

I figure I should stay on her good side because, when it hits the fan and she sets up her regime, I’ll need to ask for some favors. First thing to go: Boy Bands.